S.W.A.T. (book 2 of the hexology in seven parts)
Chapter 21: Stuck in Time

Bruce Whatchado could kick himself, but he had to content himself with booting doctor Harbinger about the forest clearing. The smart-ass boffin shouldn’t be allowed out, let alone be given access to such a dangerous device as a time machine. Mind you even Bruce had to admit, the professor technically wasn’t responsible for the accident. After all Bruce was the designated driver so to speak. Having been given a reassignment from his usual job, herding groups of tourists through the late Jurassic period. Or better still, dissuading the already paid up punters from actually taking the trip, much better all round. The company got paid, and Mrs Jones didn’t run the risk of ending up as some dinosaur’s dinner. Still after that incident with the boss, it was either pack his bags, or go nursemaiding the scientists mapping history. Bruce chose the latter; he had to keep his beer money coming from some ware.

But if he didn’t fix this problem, he would definitely be out on his uppers. Mrs Evens may have a soft spot for him. But she made it all too clear to Bruce, that if he couldn’t keep his hands from wandering. He’d better keep his wits about him on the job. That was the crux of it. While Bruce was busy imbibing a liquid lunch, his meddlesome charge far from studying the locals, had taken a little too much interest in the temporal transporter. And now it was in pieces on the grassy floor.

Bruce had finally sated his anger at the professor, who was now lying on the floor whimpering and clutching his rump. Fully booted round the clearing. So Bruce took another look at the broken device. It didn’t look quite as hopeless as when he first found the professor, shamefaced with the mess he had made. True it wasn’t one of those blue box technology sets, which burn out if you tried to open them. But still the set was cracked open, with parts hanging out. If only he could get hold of a temporal engineer to sort it out. But the local equivalent was busy trying to sharpen his flint spear. And even if by some miracle one of the natives had a grasp of the complex inner workings of a time machine. Bruce and his now sobbing professor were under strict orders to avoid contact with the natives. Prehumen contact was O.K., but although history would sort itself out, messing with people tended to mess up dates when things happened, 1067 and all that.

Bruce carefully gathered up the bits, and took them back to his tent. He’d just have to dig out the emergency manual. The one you read when you’ve really messed up. The one whose seal bore the legend, “if you value your job, do not break this seal.” Bruce figured this situation warranted taking a look in this book. So taking out his faithful sheaf knife, he made quick work of the barrier between a job, and the knowledge needed to return him to a time when the craft of larger production, matched his finely attuned taste buds. Then stealing himself for a long technical lecture, Bruce opened the book.

What greeted him on the first page, was not the usual introduction and contents for easy reference. It was possibly his second, or maybe third worst nightmare, for the page bore the simple verse. “This book is printed on light sensitive paper. Each page exposed to the light will fade within a minute.” By the time Bruce had scanned over the text twice and let it sink in, he could clearly see the words fading before his eyes. With the reflexes that could grab a rattlesnake by the neck, he slammed the book shut with a curse, as he hopped none of the other pages had been affected. Then Bruce stomped to the ball of self-pity lying on the floor, which flinched expecting more divine retribution from the furious Bruce.

“You better get spruced up doc. We don’t want a visit from Mr Ugg, which might result in a minor change in history, pissing off my boss and definitely getting me the sack. Or more importantly the locals may take offence at our presence here, and decide we could be the special guests at a sacrifice. In which case I’ll be none too pleased. I was hoping to shoot some pool by the end of the day.” He nudged the professor, who had by now figured he was not going to get another beating, and so he uncurled revealing a very frightened look. “I’m s-sorry mister Bruce sir. Curiosity got the better of me I’m afraid.” He looked tentatively for any signs that Bruce would start on him again. But the out held hand seemed friendly enough, and he let Bruce help him up.

Then Bruce looked him over, in an appraisal of his confederate in the hole they were in. At least a confederate until they were safe in the now when, as opposed to the far upstream mess they were in now. “I saw you messing with some sort of camera earlier. Go get it.” Commanded Bruce. And keen to show willing, the scientist hurried over to his equipment bag, and began to rummage. He held the device up like a trophy, expecting it to be snatched off him. But Bruce knew this bit of kit was far too precious to be handled without care. He’d got a plan, and so Bruce fired questions at the professor. “How long will the power on this thing last?” “Forever, you can wind it up.” “How do you see the pictures you take?” “Either on this little viewer here, or you can project it on to a suitable surface.” Bruce drew his breath, for the question to pay for all. “And how many pictures can you take?” “Oh thousands, it’s got a great memory pack on it.” That was good enough for part one of his plan. He just had to test the thing out, to make sure they weren’t scuppered from the start.

After a brief lesson in taking pictures, Bruce got the book out again and opened the next page. He instantly took the image, and saw the original fade before he’d put the camera down. Then he set up the projection function, and utilising an equipment box as a make shift screen. He was soon reading through the contents of the instruction manual, that he hoped would explain how to fix the damned pile of junk back in his tent. He gave a sigh of relief. Then turning over his shoulder at the professor, he made an executive decision. “Recon you can do the rest of the book without messing up?” His subordinate keen to make amends for his earlier blunder, nodded and got to work. “And don’t miss one page, I’ll be checking them when you’re done.” Then Bruce took his trusty knife and stood guard. No point having a means of escape from this time, if you were skewered on some caveman’s spear.

The evening air refreshed Bruce, and he even got a soft spot for the place, as the sun dipped below the horizon. Then he stiffened with the thought, he wouldn’t want to live here. Nice as it was to visit. After about an hour, Bruce went to check on the professor’s progress. He wasn’t doing too badly, so Bruce called a stop to the job for the night. This was too important to mess up, and he got Harbinger cooking tea on the little portable kitchen stove. While he set up snares and trip wires. If this was going to be long haul, Bruce knew he would have to sleep some time, and he didn’t trust the professor just yet to stand guard.

After they had filled their bellies, Bruce started reviewing the professor’s work. It was all readable; so he was at least good for something. For as Bruce had found out over the meal. The prof would be little help in fixing the time displacer. Palaeoanthropology wasn’t a subject given to tinkering with electronics. So Bruce’s scant knowledge of car mechanics, put him streets ahead in terms of technical knowledge in the required field. So Bruce was going to be the expert, and professor Harbinger would be the lackey, fetching and carrying for his supper. With one last check of the defences Bruce turned in for the night.

As dawn broke on the Neolithic landscape, Bruce was already up scouting about for signs of any locals. He was putting more hours in the study of these primitives than the professor, who had been sent back here to confirm long held theories, on this stage of development of man. Admittedly the professor was busy transferring the rest of the temporal manual, to a more permanent form just now. Bruce had unceremoniously shaken him awake, and told him he had better get the rest done before starting on breakfast. So when he got the smell of reconstructed bacon and eggs drifting over, Bruce was thankful they had made camp a sufficient distance from the locals. So his breakfast didn’t attract any unwanted investigations. He was also thankful that the smell meant the professor had completed transferring the now blank book to the camera, and Bruce could read it in it’s entirety.

The next problem to solve would be food. For although they had brought some supplies, Bruce didn’t think he could get a sufficient grasp of temporal engineering before, the supply ran out. So it was a jubilant professor who stood guard with his notebook, in case any locals should come a knocking. While Bruce went to school again, with the projector. The hunt could wait a day or so, and Bruce wanted to see how bad a mess they were in, before he got bogged down in the texts. By the end of the day though, Bruce’s head was buzzing. And he decided to turn he attention to the ever-increasing problem of low supplies. So prepping the prof on how to avoid Neolithic advances, and also burying anything vital to his own survival, and safe return home. Bruce set off to catch them some vittles.

The air shifted d subtly as Bruce strained to catch the distinct whiff of a great beast, unmistakable in any age. It must be a process of all the grass digesting Bruce thought. But there was something else, not on the wind but tickling the hairs on Bruce’s neck, like a forgotten sense of a hunter. Perhaps it was the call of a kindred spirit. And then it struck him, or to be truer the three hundred pounds of feline ferocity trying to make Bruce in to kitty chow did.

They rolled down the slope, scattering the gazelle like beasts Bruce had come to catch, every which way. And it flashed through the time traveling hunter’s mind how handy a Mauser 98 would be just now, rather than his trusty Sheaf knife. But on second thoughts for close range it had always seen him right. And he had several pairs of croc skin boots, and a matching carry case to testify. Another part of Bruce’s mind was pondering why he hadn’t been pierced in the first blow. Then in the tumble down the slope, like a fight with a grizzly in a washing machine, he realised the inexperienced beast had failed to hit its mark first blow. Now he would take advantage of its mistake. With skills honed over many a year, Bruce plunged his sheaf knife with precision that would have impressed a surgeon, in to the big cats heart. And then he lay panting at the bottom of the hill, as the last beats of his would be killer pumped the last of it’s life’s blood, on to the forest floor.

That night the two time travellers ate like kings. And over the weeks Bruce came to realise the predator he had dispatched, must have been a lone presence in the area. For every further trip Bruce had to make to keep the two from famine, seemed to be free of any further encounters with local predators. “Well that’s one problem less to worry about.” Bruce surmised, as he threw the latest Gazelle like carcass down at camp. While professor Harbinger was hastily writing up his day’s replaceings on the locals. He had taken their security with regards to the Neanderthal tribe with renewed vigour. After an incident in which a hunting party returning from a day’s successful raid on the local wildlife, had almost caught him. Luckily Bruce’s efforts hardly impacted on the population, so the locals would never think to go looking for the source of the extra losses. On this particular day the professor was busy studying the settlement, through some high magnification field glasses. When he failed to notice the rowdy party, as they returned with a good selection of dead beasts slung from poles. And he only had time to dive in to some reeds, before the group could see him. He had waited for hours before returning to the camp, and now Bruce was suitably impressed with his efforts to keep them hidden.

Bruce was less impressed with his own advances in the subject of temporal engineering. He seemed to be going round in circles with it. And settling down despondently he stared at the disassembled parts of the time machine, as he finished the last of the beers. As he stared between the can and the device, he recalled a book he’d once read about a fellow who tinkered with his own motorbike, according to some Zen principle or other. He went mad as far as Bruce could remember. But that one though that kept rolling around in Bruce’s mind, was that the bloke had used aluminium cans to make shims, thin spacers for the bike’s workings. And then Bruce decided to turn the problem on its head, and start to really study the machine rather than the theory.

The next day saw Bruce with a sheet spread out on the ground, with the time machine parts spread out on it like an unmade jigsaw. Slowly he placed pieces together, guided partly by his studies. But mostly by an in built sense of how machinery should work. Slowly it took shape, until there seemed to be just two halves of one part, which had split in the accident. If only there were some way to attach them together. Bruce carefully put the pieces down, and scanned the camp for inspiration. Perhaps a cut up can could bridge the gap, but he still had to solder, or better still weld it all together. Oh for a decent electronics lab, a second rate one would do.

“Want a tea break?” Professor Harbinger came over from his watch point, on the outlook for local interference. Bruce stared at him, until fearful that Bruce had finally gone mad, the professor began to slowly back away. “Bring me the cooker.” Bruce commanded, and tentatively the professor brought the device over. Then Bruce starting attacking it with his knife, and soon had it in bits. As the stunned professor looked on, Bruce applied two of the heating elements to the cracked part of the time machine. There was a glow but it didn’t hold. Then routing through the cookers inner workings, Bruce pulled out a limiter and cutting it from the wires attaching it, he spliced the two ends together. Then he tried it again on the broken part.

The resulting flash had them both clutching their faces, as stars spun in front of their blinded eyes. When he could finally make sense of the visual world around him, Bruce picked up the temporal transporter, and checked the circuits. “I think it’s time to go home”, Bruce announced. But professor Harbinger was looking over the rise, at where the tribe they were studying was located. “Good, because I think we may be finally getting a call from the neighbours.” A band of Neanderthals were advancing towards them. The flash from the weld must have attracted their attention.

Quickly the two gathered up their scant possessions, and threw them in a carry box. Then setting the controls for home, Bruce crossed his fingers. He flipped the switch that would either save them, or doom them to oblivion. As the firsts heads protruded over the edge of their camp, Bruce saw through a green haze the shocked faces fade from view, as the tight sensation of time travel gripped him. When the feeling started to ease off Bruce stared about, and was relieved to see the familiar holding area of C.E.T.I.

But then he laid eyes on his boss, Caren. She was glaring at him, and he was soon in her office. With questions being fired at him left right and centre. Then he had to sit on a bench outside the office, while his boss cross-examined the professor. All too soon the professor staggered out the door to his bosses shouts of, “You’ll never work in temporal study again.” Seconds later she poked her head out the door. “You in here now.”

Bruce rose like a man ascending the hangman’s steps. When he reached the desk, Caren Evens was already sat back in her chair. “You certainly screwed up that one Bruce.” He couldn’t seem to get any words out to defend himself, his tongue stuck in his throat. But a shrewd smile broke over her face. “But I think you came through, and showed you could keep your head in a tricky situation.” She got up and strode around the desk. Then grabbing Bruce behind his head, she planted a kiss on his lips. But before Bruce could react, she had turned on her heels again. “This is your last chance Bruce. So get yourself cleaned up, because tonight’s drinks are on you. Now get out.” A stunned Bruce stepped out of the office, ready to work another day.